Crack in the Wall
by iwokethedragon
Summary: Set just after "47 Seconds." Beckett's guilty conscience doesn't let Castle get away with his sudden, unexplained resistance and unwillingness toward her.
1. Chapter 1

_**Alright, this is my first Castle fanfic...that I didn't throw out immediately after writing. I'm a huge, huge fan of the show; love every single aspect of the characters, the storyline, and the [asdfghjkl] actors. This is just a little experimental work and something to do to waste time, and I know I'm not great, but enjoy anyway!**_

_**This is set at the ending of "47 seconds," and I just decided to have a go at altering it. We all remember that episode, don't we? We all remember the angst and the frustration, right?**_

_**So, without much further ado...**_

"So I guess it's just us." Beckett looks at him with her warm gaze, the one that _usually_ makes his heart melt.

"Yeah," Castle replies, but it's distant. He can barely bring himself to look at her, and when he does, it's distant…cold, even. No return smile, no reciprocating warmth. It creases her brow for a second.

"You know, now that the case is done...what did you wanna talk about?" she nudges gently, her smile more hesitant, careful now, monitoring him. _What happened Writer Monkey?_

He doesn't answer right away, and she can almost see the set of scales weighing his options in his mind. He waves it off. "Nothing. Nothing important, anyway."

Bull.

He was deflecting but – given his recent behaviour – she let it slide. He didn't seem to want to be pushed. Hell, he didn't even seem to want to be near her. It made her feel a little uneasy.

He interrupts her train of thought, maybe he sees the slight worry on her face, and says, "I'm gonna head home."

She looks at him almost sadly, but she can feel her head nodding of its own accord, letting him go. She's not used to letting him get away; it's always the other way around. She resists biting her lower lip as he turns away from her and begins to head toward the elevator before—

"Night."

Night? _Night?_

_Since when does Castle say "night"?_

That's what pushed her.

"Castle?" she called back to him, stalling in the process of pulling on her jacket.

He barely stops moving, just looks back at her from across the bullpen. "Yeah?"

"You alright?" She tilts her head, her eyes soft and questioning and curious.

He pauses for a beat too long before answering: "Yeah. Fine." And with that, he steps inside the elevator and lets it carry him down, leaving Beckett slightly deflated.

She resumes the action of slipping into her jacket, running her hand through her hair and bringing it out from under her collar, letting it cascade down her back and shoulders.

Something's up with him. Should she be worried? Thinking back on the day they've had, she can understand tension and stress; pretty much everyone was affected by it. It's a hard case when the victims were simply in the wrong place at the wrong time when a bomb goes off, but that couldn't have been it. Castle wasn't _Castle_. He wasn't invading her personal space, he wasn't pulling her pigtails, he wasn't making any sly remarks, any inappropriate comments. He was barely even talking to her, _looking_ at her.

It concerned her as she followed pursuit, worrying her bottom lip between her teeth as she stepped into the elevator, hitting the button Castle did not long before. Ironically, the only thing she knew to cheer her up would be Castle's usual disarmingly childish behaviour, the way his charm rubbed off on her and left her rolling her eyes while a smile usually tried valiantly fighting its way onto her lips.

Now she seemed to have to _fight_ to bring the smile around with him.

_What the hell had she done wrong? _

* * *

_He's just having a bad day._

_He's not mad at you; he's pissed at something else. Someone else. _

_Yeah._

Yeah, _right_.

Beckett tried to convince herself that she didn't do anything to tick him off. She thought of everything she said to him, anything that might've upset him, but she came up short. She had spent almost all of her time working on the case, and her work hasn't bothered him for the past three years – almost four now, actually – _whoa_ – so she wouldn't say that was it.

Maybe he had a falling out with Alexis? Martha? Gina?

Anyone but Kate?

Yet she felt an unsettling knot of guilt in the pit of her stomach, feeling it unfurl and pine away, weighing her heart down and tightening her chest. She wanted to know if he was okay. He had been there for her whenever and wherever she needed him. He followed her around persistently – and _smiled_ – when she treated him like nothing but an annoying toddler that she didn't care for. He cared enough to implore her mother's case, the most important thing to her, crack open leads she hadn't discovered herself, and although she hated him for it at the beginning, she couldn't thank him enough for it now. He ran into a burning building for her, even when it would've seemed clear that she was already dead. He huddled her and gave her warmth when they had been trapped in a freezer, slowly and chillingly approaching death. He tackled her in an attempt to save her from a bullet and made sure the last things she heard were his words of love...

_His words of love._

And she paid him back by closing him off, building tall, skyscraper-walls, and then left him to do the work of constructing some kind of draw bridge between them.

She shook her head and let out a ragged sigh, her fingers threading her hair as she made her way into her kitchen, a glass of too-sweet red wine in her hand. Her hand lingered over her phone laying on the surface of the counter top, fingertips brushing each button thoughtfully, trying to decide if she should call him or not.

But what would she say?

She hadn't a clue. No, she wouldn't call him. She'd _go_ to him.

So, about 47 minutes later, Beckett took her keys out of the ignition and exited her car, heading up to the door of an only-too-familiar building, a bottle of champagne in hand and absolutely no idea how he was about to react.

_**Any thoughts?**_


	2. Chapter 2

_**Whoa, guys, holy crap! I was so, so unsure of posting that last chapter. Those few reviews and the follows/favourites go a long way with my self-esteem, so thank you for reading and responding. Don't forget that I appreciate a little criticism, too. Don't hold it in; I know there are areas in which I can improve, hah! I'll continue the story now that there's time because school's ending for summer. And it's not like Castle's on on Monday or anything...*sniff***_

_**Anyway, I'll shush now and let you get on with the story!**_

"Detective Beckett?"

_Damn._ "Alexis. Hi. Is your, uh, dad home?" _What made her think he'd be alone?_

Alexis' curious blue eyes studied her briefly, the same way her father's did, before she nodded and stepped back to allow Beckett in.

"Yeah, yeah he is. He should be in his office if you want to go on in," the young girl quipped helpfully. Beckett nodded her thanks and smiled as she stepped over the threshold and into their beautifully impressive loft.

"Where's Martha?" asked Beckett lightly, her eyes roaming to the island in the kitchen as she noticed the scatter of splayed out books, no doubt where Alexis had been before she decided to land uninvited, interrupting her from her studies.

The logic she had seen in the idea about an hour ago was dissipating with every passing minute.

And her being a detective. It was almost unprofessional.

"She's...out," Alexis answered her, and it took Beckett a second to recall what she was answering to. The teenager's nose crinkled as she spoke and Kate almost chuckled. "You want glasses for that?" she then added, gesturing to the bottle in Beckett's hand.

"Oh...yes, thank you," Beckett responded, a little colour warming her cheeks as she gave the younger girl an impish smile. "It's not what you think, by the way," she quickly added, as if clearing her name of some unspoken crime.

Alexis smiled as she stepped behind the island in the kitchen and withdrew two crystal flutes from the cupboard. "It's okay. I've met him today, too. I'm sure he'll appreciate this."

"Yeah?" Beckett reached out and accepted the glasses from her partner's daughter and knitted her brow softly, letting the briefest glimpse of insecurity dance in her eyes.

"Yeah. I'll be upstairs if you need me, okay?" the teenager said kindly, sounding like a mother about to leave the babysitter with her young child. Beckett had to grin.

"Yeah. Thanks."

* * *

Castle pulled his gaze from the screen of his laptop as three soft knocks greeted his door. His confusion filtered into his voice as he spoke up and said – or rather, asked, "Come in?"

No one ever knocked on his office door.

He had expected Alexis to enter, possibly wanting something from him, but no. Different situation altogether.

"Beckett," he uttered in disbelief.

"Hey," she said softly, offering him a light smile that looked a little bit...hopeful? But it soon faded as she watched the surprise subdue in his eyes and be replaced by the same look he had been giving her all day. He seemed so ominous, so _stoic_ about something. _About what? _She closed the door behind her.

"What're you doing here?"

In response, she held up the two glasses in one hand and the bottle in another, and it almost broke his heart how hard she seemed to be trying to cheer him up.

Part of him felt bad. She didn't know what she said, if he even heard her, or if she realised what it meant if he did. But the wound was still too fresh to trust her to realise her wrongdoing. _Her sinful silence for almost a year_.

"I thought we could...you know, relax a little. Tough case and everything," she said quietly, her voice fading as if she regretted opening her mouth the moment she started talking.

He didn't know what to say, how to ask her to leave politely, but not so politely that she'd believe things were fine between them. When he didn't answer immediately, she asked, "You writing?"

He glanced down to his screen before returning his eyes to her level, giving a curt nod. It twisted her stomach into a hundred uncomfortable knots, seeing the spark missing from his gaze. If she knew how to reignite it, she would.

"Castle..." she began quietly, but then she found her voice properly and repeated herself. "Castle, what's going on?"

He blinked at her a few times before shrugging, his voice low and almost robotic. "Nothing. Why?"

A sudden twinge of annoyance spiralled briefly in her stomach, causing her to shoot him a _don't-bullshit-me_ look. How long was he going to keep this up? It had never been so hard to get through to him before.

"You're not yourself," she said firmly, setting the bottle and the glasses on the table next to the door as she chanced a step further into his office.

He finally sighed and shut the laptop closed on the desk in front of him. "And how does that invite you here?" He didn't mean for it to sound so accusing and unwelcoming, but she took it well enough so he didn't bother taking it back.

"It doesn't. And I'll leave, right now, if you want me to," she shrugged, but then continued, "But for some reason I don't think I'd be seeing you for a while if I did. Would that be true?"

"I don't know, I haven't decided yet."

"You haven't decided whether or not you're going to stop showing up to work?"

He looked at her for a second and then gazed at his folded hands resting on the surface of the laptop, the slight grind of his jaw telling her that he was biting his tongue; not saying all of what he wanted to say.

"I'm not a cop," he stated simply, emotionlessly.

"No, but you've been shadowing me for almost four years now and you _not being a cop_ hasn't stopped you acting like one before," she shot back easily, her tone firm and controlled. "What's up, Castle?"

"I haven't been shadowing you this whole time to _act like a cop_," he said quietly, but she could tell it was starting to become increasingly hard for him not to talk to her. "You _know_ that, Beckett." She didn't answer right away, and he then added in an even lower voice, "And you _know_ you know that, too. You've known...all this time."

_Oh._

She parted her lips, but not to speak, and quietly drew in a thick breath that almost drowned her as the realisation dawned and tamped down the determination in her eyes.

_Oh, no._ _No, no, no. _

When he looked back up at her and tilted his head ever so slightly, his almost challenging eyes found hers as her heart seemed to quiver and thump heavily against her ribcage.

"Haven't you?"

_**Thoughts?**_


	3. Chapter 3

_**Again, guys, I just want to thank you all for reading. I didn't expect any response to this dabble, and it only makes it more fun to write. I'm trying to stay clear of mistakes, but I know there's bound to be a few more in here that I'm not seeing, so don't hesitate to keep me in line! I'll try to give as much closure as I can for this fic, and hopefully you'll find it worthwhile to read. If not – again – let me know so I can improve!**_

* * *

"Castle, I..."

"Look, _don't_, Beckett. Just _don't_." Castle had his palms up now, although not exactly in a way of surrender.

"Let me explain," she tried, but she wasn't even sure that he heard her, her voice being so quiet and strangled.

Apparently he did.

"You've had almost a _year_ to explain. Why didn't you?" he fired, and now, finally, she could see some emotion in his eyes. She was grateful for that much, but what she saw ruptured her. It was hurt and heartache and anger and he looked so _lost_. Like a kid who just realised his parents had being lying to him for years about Santa Claus.

She tried to quench the dryness of her mouth with her tongue before she swallowed down her pride and whispered in a voice so terrified it almost surprised Castle, "I couldn't."

He didn't answer, so she continued after clearing her throat. "I couldn't, Castle. What you said, it..." she broke off softly, getting frustrated at how she couldn't keep her voice as steady as she could before. Swallowing once more, she tried again. "It _scared_ me. A lot. I wasn't ready – I still don't think I can—"

"Stop," he interrupted. "I get that. I'm not asking you to be ready, Kate," he said, his voice still laced with anger and hurt, but it seemed to soften on her name. At least she thought it did. "I'm not expecting reciprocation. I get it, okay? I _know_ that I'm way in over my head. You're not. It's just me. If what I said embarrasses you, I apologise, but _why_ didn't you say anything at all?" His voice became more rushed toward the end, and Beckett heard the anger slowly filter out, leaving his words broken and shaky and _God, he was breaking her heart_.

Is that really what he thought? That that's why she wouldn't say anything?

"Castle..." she breathed, looking as though she might faint. Her head was light and her heart was heavy. It made her feel unstable. Her hand splayed against the wood of the door behind her and she let it support her. After taking a long breath, she forced her gaze upon his, her voice hushed, "Castle, I didn't...I wasn't_ embarrassed_. I wasn't ashamed – I didn't _resent_ what you told me, I just..."

He knew he must've intimidated her slightly, him being behind his desk with a hiding place as she was out in the open in front of him, on his territory, with nothing to ground her. He stood out of his chair and walked around to the front of his desk, but no further than that. Despite finding it hard to believe her, he encouraged her nonetheless. "You what?"

"I told you in the park, after...after the shooting. After your book signing..." she started softly, letting the memory sink in before she continued. "I told you that I put up this – this wall. And that...I couldn't have the relationship I wanted until it came down. Until I caught who did it – who shot me. Who killed her." Her words were slow and careful, and she monitored his reaction as she spoke them. "You remember?"

The words '_It's funny, some of the things people remember these days,'_ almost rolled off his tongue but he quickly caught them with his teeth. The more rational voice in his head wanted to give her a chance. "Yeah."

"Castle, you've been clawing and digging through that wall since the day we met. You've gotten so..._close_ to me, closer than anyone else has since that night in the alley." Her voice became thick with unbridled emotion that was becoming harder for her to channel, and all he could do was listen. "You're barely a brick away..." She was whispering now, and he couldn't believe the fact that there were tears in her eyes.

"Beckett," he spoke up suddenly, and now he was struggling to keep moisture from forming in his own eyes. "Why is it such a bad thing? Why can't you..." He trailed off and fixed her with a hopeless look.

_What the hell had she been doing to him for the past year?_

"It's not that it's a bad thing, because _it's not_," she replied quickly, her tone almost pleading. "It's just...Castle, I'm terrified of getting hurt again. I wanna let you in, I want to be...I want to be what you deserve, but I'm so afraid of ruining _everything_."

He stared at her for a moment before he answered, trying to decipher the expression on her face.

Fear? Insecurity? Vulnerability? A mixture, it seemed, and it ripped his heart up because it was a part of Beckett that she _never_ let show. Not if she could help it.

"Don't you think it deserves a chance? At least?" he asked quietly, and the desperate look in his eyes inflicted more fear in her than when his voice was rougher with anger.

"Yes," she breathed, _barely._

"But?" he quipped softly when she didn't go on.

She shook her head softly, and the movement was enough to encourage the first tear to slide down her sharp, defined cheekbone, closely followed by another. "I don't know. I don't know, Castle."

It was becoming too much for him. Sure, she had hurt him, but that didn't stop the overwhelming urge in him to rush forward and hold her – hold the broken pieces of the beautiful portrait that had fallen apart because of his pushing.

So he did just that.

She let go of the door and collapsed heavily against his broad frame, seeking solace in the comfort he was offering her.

"I'm sorry," she managed between the obstacles of the sobs slowly racking through her body and the cotton of his shirt. "I'm so sorry, Rick."

He only held her tighter.

"I know I should've told you how I felt a long time ago, but—"

He shushed her softly and rested the underside of his jaw on the roots of her gently flowing curls. She tilted her head up slightly and he felt the warmth of her breath on the side of his neck, not minding the hot dampness that her tears brought to his skin.

"How _do_ you feel?"

He felt her pause, felt her breathing stop before she seemed to shudder a sigh and finally pull back slightly to meet his gaze. After a minute of what looked like steeling herself, she swallowed back her hesitation and gripped his shirt a little tighter in her fists.

"I'm...I love you, Castle. I love you, too."

* * *

_**Alright, so, this is the last week of school now, but I should be pretty busy up until Thursday night. I'll try to update as efficiently as I can, but stick with me if I poof for a day or two.**_

_**Thoughts?**_


	4. Chapter 4

_**I promise to stop going on about it, really, but I just wanna thank you guys again for reading and following/favouriting/reviewing. It's just fantastic. I'll try to keep up what you're liking about the story, whatever it is.**_

_**For some reason, I'm not too sure about how this chapter came across, so I'm anxious to know what you think. Maybe I rushed it a bit. Eh.**_

_**Enjoy, anyway!**_

Their breaths mingled as Castle's lips suddenly crashed over Beckett's, and she rose up against him, meeting him, connecting with him in a way she had yearned to for years, no matter how hard she tried to suppress the mere thought of it. It was happening now – _properly_ – and it wasn't a ploy, it wasn't an undercover tactic – it was real and it was _perfect_.

But it could only last so long before she pressed against his chest and urged him back, surfacing from his mouth sharply enough for a _pop _to sound between them.

Gasping to fill the void of zero oxygen in her lungs, the oxygen he stole from her, she wiped the wetness on his cheeks – her own doing – with the heels of her palms and then resorted to lightly stroking his forehead.

"Castle, please don't..." she started, but her voice failed her. She was breathless and hoarse and _giving him the wrong idea completely_.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to—" he rushed out, his eyes widening in fear before she cut him off with her fingertips.

"No, no, not this," she murmured tenderly, shaking her head before her bright, wet, shining hazel eyes met his. "I can't – just don't expect much from me."

He suddenly looked crestfallen, her words affecting him enough for it to gleam in his eyes. He had gotten _this_ close and now...

"Yet," she added quickly upon seeing his expression.

_Yet_.

He moved his arms from around her back and placed his hands on her biceps gently, creating a gap between them, giving her back her personal space. As much as she appreciated their close proximity, she was grateful for the room in which she could start thinking rationally again.

"Okay. It's okay," he nodded nimbly, holding her in front of him for a minute before finally letting her go and stepping around her.

She spun around, momentarily confused, to see that he was going for the table. He picked up the bottle of champagne, popped the cork – and her lips twitched at how easeful he seemed with it – before she hummed, "Party trick?"

The corners of his mouth lifted slightly but he didn't say anything. Pouring out the two glasses, he handed her one and held his own toward her suggestively. She tilted her head slightly. "We don't have anything to celebrate."

"How about the fact that we're alive?"

"A little mainstream coming from a writer, but alright."

At that, he smiled, and boy, it felt good to see him smile for the first time that day, although it felt like weeks. Beckett's face lit up as she returned it warmly.

Things felt...almost normal again, like their conversation didn't even happen.

However, it _did_ happen. And he was grateful for it.

"_I love you, Castle. I love you, too."_

So he had to wait a little longer – the words she spoke would keep him going. He could do this. He could wait another while, for her.

He tapped his glass against hers with a promising _clink_ and then raised the cylinder to his lips, taking a much-needed sip from the bitter liquid.

"I'm still a little upset," he said quietly, trying to cover up his expression as she nodded. "But...even more so now."

Then her eyes flashed with caution as she parted her lips to speak, but he cut her off by shaking his head and pulling a comical face. "This tastes like _crap_."

A bright laugh bubbled from her lips and she quickly caught it in her hand, and even given his mixed feelings toward her, he still took pride in the fact that he could make her look and sound so gleeful. It felt like a super power to him. She wasn't an easy rock to chisel, but _man, was she a gorgeous sculpture. _

"Why are you still drinking it?" she asked after a moment, her voice laden with amusement as she watched him. If he didn't know any better, he'd swear that she was looking at his mouth for more than one reason.

"That's a good point," he muttered, looking at the glass in distaste, before he drew hers out of her hand and set both down on the table next to the bottle. Ushering her out of his office and back into the living room, he said, "I'll make us something that's a little easier to go down."

She paused to quirk an eyebrow at him, and suddenly she was back to normal; giving him that savvy arch of the brow that could have him reaching for either a bucket of water or a hurt locker shield.

"_Alcohol._ Jeez, Beckett." Trying hard not to grin, he brushed past her and headed into his kitchen.

She paused for a brief moment, drawing her lower lip under the captivity of her teeth before she murmured softly, "On second thoughts, Castle, just forget it. It's late enough; I should go."

"The hell you should."

She looked up to throw him a curious look and he answered it with, "Look out the window."

Her gaze slid past his eyes to the large, curtainless window where she found herself looking at the inside of what seemed like a waterfall. Rain beat heavily against the brittleness of the glass, and it was only now that her mind picked up on the sound that reverberated around the loft. It was a welcomed sound, the gentle _pitter-patter _putting her mind at ease.

"So? It's only a little rain."

"How far away are you parked?" he asked, knowing the answer already, his eyebrows raised.

"I...the usual place," she sighed, knowing that it was a fairly decent walk down the street.

"Exactly. We'll wait until it slows down a little, at least."

He reached down to withdraw a fancy-looking bottle from the wine rack. Catching the name in the corner of her eye, Beckett silently read "Stony Hill Chardonnay" from the elegant scrawl on the side. She deadpanned him.

"Really, Castle?"

"What?"

"Just a beer would be fine, you know," she said, giving him a look that told him to put the bottle back and not to complain.

He huffed but complied nonetheless. "You're no fun."

"That's what you know," she mumbled as she made herself comfortable and hopped up on one of the stools.

He chuckled as he got two chilled brown bottles of Coors Light and handed her one over the counter, turning behind him to search for a bottle opener when he heard a _pop-sssss_ behind him. Whirling around, he found Beckett with her lips already wrapped around the bottle, and it was easy to tell she was suppressing a smirk. It might not have been present on her lips, but her eyes shimmered with, '_go on, ask me how I did it, but you're not gonna get any answers.'_

His lips parted but he just swallowed and tried forming coherent thoughts again.

What was he doing...?

Right. Bottle opener.

* * *

About ten minutes later, they had moved to the living room and Castle had flicked on the TV, not surprised when he found that he had just resumed an old movie of Martha's.

"Oh, God," he had muttered. "Even when she's not here, she's here." And he earned a chuckle from Beckett.

Sitting peacefully in the silence, Castle on the couch and Beckett occupying the adjacent chair, they both sipped at their drinks with amused expressions as they watched the black and white pictures roll before them. They would probably need talk again, soon, but both seemed too comfortable in each other's presence, things just felt so normal that the faint tear tracks and (in Beckett's case) lightly smudged mascara went completely disregarded.

More minutes passed and Castle chuckled as he watched his mother overreact almost comically onscreen, but apparently it wasn't a mutual enjoyment. Looking over at Beckett, he was surprised to find her fast asleep, her legs dangling over one arm of the recliner and her back propped up against the other. Her head was tilted forward slightly, but he could see enough to know that she was completely out of it. _Good thing she set aside her drink first._

He grabbed the remote control from the coffee table and muted the movie to hear the soothing waves of her breathing that matched the rhythm of her softly rising and falling chest, just simply enjoying those extraordinary mechanisms for a moment. Then, standing from the couch, he tugged at the blanket draped over the back of it and smoothed it over the cushions before placing a few pillows on one end, plushing them out to make sure they were comfortable.

Taking his time – really, _really_ taking his time – he tenderly manoeuvred Beckett from the chair and into his arms before he carefully set her slim frame down on his handy-work on the couch. But as he eased his arms out from under her, he bent down a little lower to place a courteous kiss on her forehead, his lips hovering for maybe just a second too long.

And suddenly the suctioning sound of a door being opened startled him out of his peace.

"Richard?"

_**Thoughts?**_


	5. Chapter 5

_**Alright, so, reading over that last chapter I know it was a total rush, which maybe did lead it to be a little unbelievable – unbelievable, as in, actually hard to believe. So that's a wake up call if anything! I won't be updating daily for a while, not after this chapter. School ends for summer on Friday, which should give me a lot more time to put the effort in. Bear with me for a while. Well, unless you'd rather have crappy, unsatisfying writing, that is, haha. Keep updating and keep letting me know what you think, where I've went wrong and what I can do to make it better!**_

_**Still amazed by the response, so, thanks, everyone!**_

* * *

_Damn it._

_Damn it, damn it, damn it._

The world had a knack for bad timing in Richard Castle's life, didn't it?

"Richard?" repeated the voice of his mother from the doorway, slightly louder, slightly more intrigued at the sight she walked in on.

He glanced up and waved his hands animatedly, signalling for her to be quiet. With a risky look down at Kate, he breathed a silent sigh of relief. She hadn't flinched.

Martha understood, finally, that the woman was asleep on their couch, so she nodded and pointed to the kitchen as she made her way there. Although he could tell she was trying to be as quiet as possible, the _click-clacks_ of her heels were really grating his nerves.

Upon making his way over, he whispered, "What are you doing home?"

She looked at him as if he had just woke up on Christmas without even realising. "It's after midnight, Kiddo. I'm not old enough to stay in, but I'm old enough to have some sense," she replied as quietly as her over-dramatic demeanour would allow. "Now, are you going to tell me what the hell happened between you and Detective Beckett?"

"It's late. Maybe in the morning," he said softly, glancing back fondly to where Beckett lay soundlessly. _His Sleeping Beauty_.

"Oh, come now, darling, you know you want to talk about it," she remarked knowingly, and he found his own set of eyes boring into his with that _annoyingly_ smug look he knew he used on others.

Sighing, he gave in. "Alright. Well, she showed up earlier with some champagne – which, by the way, isn't worth sneaking a taste if you find it in my office – and she wanted to talk."

"Talk about what she said? That she remembered you told her how you felt?"

"No," he mumbled, still feeling slightly bad for being so cold to her when he knew she was clueless as to why. "Not until I told her that was why I was upset with her."

Martha nodded slowly before she continued, "And how did she take that?"

"She was...she was a little taken aback. She didn't expect it." Then he felt a little embarrassed, and his silence only provoked Martha to prod further.

"And?"

"And I got it completely wrong."

"Oh, Richard, what did you do?"

"Is there any need for such an accusatory tone? I'm still upset," he said, almost defensively, before continuing. "But she apologised, and she told me why she didn't say anything."

Martha squinted her eyes softly at him. "And why was that?"

"Well, she said she wasn't ready. She couldn't do something like this right now, but she implied that there would be a future. A chance for us."

"That's _fantastic_, dear," she responded with a wave of her hand, momentarily forgetting to keep her voice down as she studied her son and his expression, noticing the slightly ominous edge to his tone, one that also sounded like suppressed joy. "What? What else happened?" She looked from Castle to his partner on the couch and tried to formulate a solution, and then her face had that accusatory look again when she decided on a theory for his attitude. "You _didn't_."

"What? Mother, _no_," he almost exclaimed, but then he heard a slight rustling on the couch and he froze. He paused for a moment before glancing back to check on her.

Still asleep. Whew.

His voice much quieter now, he continued in barely more than a whisper, "She told me she loves me."

And now he was grinning.

"Oh, that's my boy," Martha beamed back at him, and for a second she looked as if she was going to clap her hands together, but stopped herself just in time.

And before she could say any more, he ushered her toward the staircase and whispered, "Right, and now your boy needs you to go to bed, and do me a favour? Check on Alexis and make sure she's sleeping?"

"Richard, the girl's eighteen years old, she doesn't need to be checked on."

"_You_ need to be checked on and you're—"

"—_Alright, _fine, not another word. I get it," she waved him off, already a flight up the stairs, leaving him with a grin still plastered across his face.

When, finally, she was out of sight, he moved back into the living room and quickly noticed the boots on Beckett's feet. He knew they wouldn't be too comfortable to sleep in, so he got down on his knees at the end of the couch and _oh-so-carefully_ slipped each one off, setting them aside for her to find in the morning.

If he had his way, he could spend the whole night just looking at her, watching her sleep and cherishing the fact that _she loves him back_.

But he knew if he did that she'd wake up seriously alarmed, perhaps hit him, so he decided against it.

But he didn't have the heart to go into his bedroom, either, and leave her here on her own. He'd crash here, too.

So he finally tore his gaze from her and took a walk into his bedroom, finding out the closet and pulling a spare blanket from the top shelf. Then he made his way back out to her and lightly covered her with the insulating sheet, letting it merge against her figure snugly.

Stepping back and letting himself fall into the armchair, he deflated completely and felt himself relax, having just the right angle on her face to study how the shadows licked the hollow of her cheeks, the underside of her jaw, and where her hair fell around in those loose, soft curls he adored.

He could have stayed up for hours like that, and he would have, but unfortunately, he had no choice but to be eventually pulled into the slumber that hovered over him like an eagle, soaring above his head before swooping down to take its prey in its firm grip.

That grip remained firm until – not the morning – but in the middle of the night, when Castle slipped from sleep's talons and came crashing down into reality as reality came crashing down on him with a not-so-distant _smash._

* * *

_**Oh! And follow me on Twitter at iwokethedragon. **_

_**Thoughts?**_


	6. Chapter 6

_**Guys! Guys! School's over! Which means I'll get more time to concentrate on this and a few other fics I've been thinking on writing. Just playing about with ideas and whatnot, y'know what I mean. One at a time, though, one at a time.**_

_**I've given up on replying to reviews individually because I can never find the time, and after reading a few, I'm too flattered to form words, so thanks to everyone! You have no idea how much I appreciate it.**_

_**Anyway, I'm not sure about this one either, but hopefully you'll enjoy it. Oh, and let me know if it's out of character a little or a lot, I know only too well that I can drift out of line.**_

_**Right, shhhing now.**_

* * *

"Whoa, what's going on?"

Castle spluttered breathlessly from his chair, his head jerking up to quickly scan the place. "Beckett?"

"I'm here, Castle – I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to wake you up. Damn it, I'm sorry."

"What happened?" he asked, slightly incredulously, but calmer now that there wasn't an alien invasion, or any ninjas breaking in, or any midnight monsters coming to attack.

"Your glass – I was getting a glass of water and – my hand slipped," she got out with some difficulty, her hand wound in her hair and her teeth wound in her lip.

Wiping sleep out of his eyes and running tired hands over his face, he approached the kitchen and let a sleepy, yet amused smile blossom as he recognised the glass on the ground, part of it coloured, the threatening shards scattered across the tile.

"Castle, I—"

He cut her off and chuckled. "It's _alright_, Beckett."

"I swear I'll get you a new one."

"No you won't," he said smoothly, gesturing inside the cupboard she had opened and pointing out about a dozen more of the exact same glass. All small and clear with a red circle in the middle. "These are the glasses me and Alexis use for sling-shot practise. So, good shot."

At that, she seemed to visibly relax, her eyes falling shut with a sigh that had a trace of a laugh in it. "Oh, oh, good."

"Yeah. Water?" he suggested, noticing she hadn't yet gotten that far yet.

"Thanks," she nodded a little, scooping down to begin picking up the pieces of glass.

"Whoa, no, go you back over to the couch. I'll get that—"

"The hell you will," she said automatically. He had forgotten who this was; Beckett had that quality in her that thrived to be independent and to do things on her own. One of his favourite things about her – by far one of the most admirable.

He just took down another glass and filled it with water as Beckett carefully disposed of the shattered crockery. "Ice?"

"Yeah, but – could you sprinkle it on top? And maybe a wedge of lime, too? And an umbrella?"

He glanced at her to see if she was serious or not and she have him a notorious eye roll in answer. "_Just _water's fine, thank you," she hummed as she took the glass from him and brought it to her lips as she turned and walked back into the living room.

He followed after a beat, grinning to himself, before she took her place on the couch again, and he did the same with the chair next to it.

"You know, you really didn't have to do all this," Beckett murmured, glancing around her. "And did you...take off my shoes?" Her eyebrow was lifting now, and he wasn't sure whether to decipher it as amusement or accusation.

He glanced at her feet and prayed to God he had inherited some of his mother's "acting" skills. "I...no. Hmm. Must've been mother. She was here for a little while earlier before she headed upstairs," he responded quietly, nodding just a little too surely.

"Mmm," she nodded along, doing her best to refrain from the _How-stupid-do-you-think-I-am? _grin. "But honestly, you should've just woke me up. And why aren't you sleeping in your own room?"

"I didn't want to wake you, for one; you looked so tired. And, well, I was going to, but then I thought _What if Kate wants water and breaks one of my target glasses?_"

She chuckled softly. "Am I becoming so predictable? No longer an unsolved mystery to you?"

He looked at her for a moment, his smile becoming soft, but his eyes even softer. "I'll never solve you. Frustrating riddle of a woman, you are."

She tried suppressing a smile as she concentrated on the way the hesitant five-in-the-morning sun crept through the windows highlighted the simplest of things – the blue of his eyes, the ghost of his stubble. For a moment, she caught herself thinking _Why doesn't he let that grow a little?_ as her gaze flitted across his jaw line.

"That night," he began, startling her out of her daze. "In L.A., you remember?"

She nodded softly, thinking back to when they sat on that sofa. How she talked about Royce and he watched and listened as if she was telling him his own future. How she could've kissed him there and then, swept up in their moment. How, that when they had separated into their own rooms, she almost came back to him to find his door closing behind him at the other side of the room.

_Timing. When was it ever generous with those two?_

"That night, I could've told you," he said gently.

"Why didn't you?" It wasn't an accusation, he knew that. Genuine curiosity. It was a sweet sound, for some reason, coming from Kate.

"You were with Josh."

"Oh."

_Oh. Josh._

Right.

"And there was also that time, y'know, when we thought we had been exposed to radiation," he added. Then again, with, "And when we were in the freezer."

Her chest constricted softly, knowing all-too-well that it was only the tip of the iceberg. Realising how many times they had gotten close – and not just him – to admitting certain things to each other was surprising. Thinking back on those moments and asking herself _What would have happened if someone hadn't walked in? If someone, or something, hadn't interrupted?_

Somewhere deep, deep inside her, beneath the walls she put up – a place she didn't even go herself – she knew. And she knew he did, too. She knew how she felt about him, as hesitant as she was to act on it, and she knew there had to be some kind of reciprocation in him; why else would he come back, day after day?

"_Research."_

Of course, _research_.

He seemed to be thinking the same thing.

"I'm sorry," he said so suddenly she visibly stiffened at the unexpected voice. The silence between them was thick but it wasn't uncomfortable.

"What for?" she questioned softly.

"I shouldn't have doubted you. That time in the freezer, you were going to say something, right? Were you..." he trailed off, leaving the air of a question in his voice.

She nodded meekly. She couldn't exactly remember _– __honestly _– what had happened. For so long she had wondered if she had finished her sentence or if she passed out before a single word even left her mouth. She just remembers the cold, the comfort of his slight heat, and her vision being eventually clouded with a suffocating, freezing blanket of darkness. And if she got it out, she wasn't even sure he'd have remembered after all the fuss about the slight hypothermia, and _wait a second_—

That was exactly how he felt, wasn't it? Not knowing whether it was said, heard, understood? If it meant anything? The realisation hit her like a ton of bricks. They had been in the same place so many times, but _never together_. Both were going at a different pace, and what they needed to do most was set a rhythm. Find where they're at, find each other, find what they want.

They had needed to know how they felt about each other, but with every passing opportune moment, something went wrong, and they breezed past the _almost-ness_ of it like closing a book without dog-earing the page.

Maddening. Frustrating.

_Like always._

"Castle..." Kate murmured in barely more than a whisper, steeling herself to test the uncharted waters.

He looked up and met her eyes, tilting his head responsively.

"What're we doing?"

Her voice was so laden with the subtext, it almost surprised him. Never had he imagined having these kinds of talks with _Beckett_. Not yet, at least. Not for a while.

"What do you mean?"

"I mean, what do we do now?" She was biting her lip lightly, her eyes searching his and he could tell she was desperate for an answer. She needed a firm ground for her feet, whatever it was. The spontaneity wasn't often an option for her, not for Kate.

"We don't have to do anything now," he said in a heartbeat. "We can just work together. We can wait. _I _can wait, Kate."

"You shouldn't have to do that, Castle," she replied uncertainly, dropping her gaze.

"No," he agreed, nodding. "But I can, and I will."

Then she looked at him again, and he was shocked to see the insecurity in her eyes, the slight disbelief on her face as she breathed, "_Why, _Rick?"

"Why?" He paused, let himself think. _She doesn't see what he sees_. He had to remember that, as unbelievable as it may be. "Because you're my partner. That's what partners do, right?"

That rare, brilliantly radiant smile of hers suddenly crossed her features, the look from just before vanishing, and it almost made his chest swell with pride that he could bring it about. He could see it now, clearer than anything – the _adoration_ in her gaze that she fixed only on him, and it made him want to kick himself for ever doubting it.

"Yeah," she finally agreed. "That's what we do."

* * *

_**Thoughts?**_


	7. Chapter 7

It's been weeks.

For weeks, Richard Castle has been stepping on eggshells, careful of every little detail to do with Kate Beckett's demeanour. For weeks, he has been careful not to push her, not to step out of line, not to do anything that would ruin the new rapport they've built since the bomb case. He's had almost four years of practise – he can do it – but it's never been particularly easy. Until now.

He's only one brick away, and now that they've both acknowledged that, it's been easier to accept it and work with it. There's no uncertain thoughts lingering between them, no unspoken questions, no crushing wonder that maybe they're both just too far in and over their heads.

Now there's hope, promise, and an undercurrent of potential happiness lying between them and it's just waiting for them to jump in.

Every day he brings her coffee, as usual, and he still follows her around and pretends not to know that it stopped annoying her about three years ago. But Beckett's attitude toward him has altered slightly. She's softened when contacting with him, she's given up most of her satire but continues to tease him – that, he imagines she couldn't stop even if she wanted to. Yet she doesn't shy away at the end of each day when he leans in to kiss her on the cheek. He's even felt her head turn toward his slightly, as if she almost wanted to catch his lips.

He's getting closer. Or rather, pulling _her_ closer. Slowly, and so deliberately.

* * *

"Of course you don't understand why she's taking her graduation speech so seriously; you were probably the guy who had nothing on but boxers underneath his gown," Beckett responded to his daily update on how Alexis was doing.

"That is so insulting," he started, and she looked to him, awaiting one of those explanations that made him out to be a lot sweeter than what she wanted to give him credit for. "If you must know, I was naked underneath."

Moment revoked.

"Oh, sorry." She laughed, shaking her head at his buoyancy, and he grinned inwardly. "I stand corrected. So how is the father of the graduate taking it?"

"I already have a plan to drown my sorrows. After the ceremony, my mother goes off to the Hamptons, Alexis'll be doing her all-nighter – _I_ will be distracting myself with a double feature of The Killer and Hard Boiled."

"Waow, that _is_ a double feature," she said lightly, and he could see her smile. A ghost of a smile that she wore whenever she wasn't letting on about something completely, how interested she really was.

"You like John Woo?" he asked curiously, his head cocking to the side.

"The bloodier the better," she replied after a beat.

She continued to walk toward their crime scene, but he, however, paused in step and dared himself to come out with his next question. Where was the harm? They had been doing so well for so long, and he wasn't exactly asking her _out_ or anything.

"You wouldn't wanna...join me, would you?" He narrowed his eyes cautiously, gauging her reaction.

It took a second for her expression to change, and he almost regretted it, but then she turned, smiled warmly – almost shyly – and nodded, nearly blowing him away. "Actually, I'd love to."

He couldn't resist stopping to stare at her in wonder for a moment, at how _well_ that went. He had just bought himself some time with Kate, at his loft, enjoying some good, kickass action. Just the two of them, and he thinks he'd rather have that than some expensive date in an impersonal restaurant, crowded with sickening couples that would tease them about where they haven't gotten yet.

There'd be time for them to show off what they could be.

What they were _going_ to be.

It was when her voice reached him that he came back to reality.

"You comin', Castle?" There was that smile. So warm, so sure, yet shy. Innocent and simply beautiful.

"Yeah," he quickly acquiesced, catching her up.

Neither of them had any idea just what they were about to get themselves into – that it could positively wreck their whole relationship, never mind just a double feature of _John Woo. _

* * *

"They went after Montgomery's files. Not valuables, not cash. Now our thief is dead and the files he took are missing." Esposito's words reverberated in the back of Beckett's head as she scrawled up their recent discoveries on the murder board. She couldn't focus properly; her mind was racing through one hundred and one different scenarios to explain, which only made the elephant stand out more prominently in the room. The elephant being – respectively speaking – _Johanna Beckett_.

"Well, let's not jump to conclusions," Castle intervened, always thoughtful – _wary_ of Beckett's reactions.

But as she turned around to face them again, Esposito went on seriously, "What else would it be about? Everyone here thinks Montgomery died bringing a cop killer to justice. We're the only ones who know what he was really involved in." Then he turned to Beckett as she walked past, everything about her posture radiating tension. "And his connection to your mother's murder. Beckett, it can't be a coincidence."

She looked between them and kept her voice low. Her serious, clipped tone made Castle's insides writhe in pain but he couldn't help the situation as it was.

"Recheck the vic's rap sheet, see if Montgomery was involved in any of his old arrests, and get on that number. I want to know who he was talking to before he died."

The boys consented and Beckett left for the break room, leaving Castle alone with his thoughts. The thoughts he had been suppressing for a year now. The ones that haunted him when he thought about Johanna Beckett – and over the past year, he had been thinking about her and her unfortunate event more than what he used to. Kate was involved now, and although she wasn't aware of it, so was he.

If he told her to stop investigating, told her about Maddox, their relationship would be undoubtedly destroyed, and he would lose her.

And if he let her go ahead and get too close to the case again, _he'd still lose her. _

* * *

_**Alright, I know this was basically just word for word "Always," but I promise the next chapter – the last! – will be more to do with how I've altered this particular arc of episodes. I'm not sure how long anyone was expecting this fic to last, but it was never meant to be anything big, and it's really more for experimental reasons than anything else. Hope you still liked it! Big thanks for all the support up until now.**_

_**Thoughts?**_


	8. Chapter 8

Beckett stares at her homemade murder board, the gist of the past few days getting under her skin and making her feel icy cold, although her blood was hot with a feeling of constant adrenaline, fury, and determination.

The fever of justice.

"_You woke the Dragon, and this is so much bigger than you realise."_

_Castle's cry_ _–_ _"Kate!"_

_Blood, lots of it. Lanie's plea – "Don't die on me!" A man. A woman. "Stat!" "No pulse!"_

"_You can't hide from me." _

_Lockwood – "You got it ass backwards. You can't hide from them."_

_Montgomery – "I don't know how but somehow he figured it out."_

_Raglan – "I made a bad mistake."_

"_Who hired you to kill her?"_

_Coonan – "Forget it. You'll never touch 'em."_

Her breathing has picked up, the images of the past years gathering in her mind; sinister voices spurring her on the edge of sanity. Her gaze flickers between handwritten notes and pictures of suspects, pictures of victims, before it decidedly lands on a small yellow note reading "FIND THEM".

Then her phone startles her out of her reverie and she jolts slightly, moving across the living room to pick it up from the coffee table.

"Hey, Espo. Got anything?"

"Yeah, I went over the security footage a couple times and found something, so I zoomed in on our guy's hand as he was leaving. He's got a keychain, Beckett. I matched it to Eastway Car Rentals."

"You think you can find the car?"

"I'll let you know if I do. It's a bit of a long shot, but—"

"But it's all we've got at the minute, yeah, I know."

"Right."

Beckett heard a knock on her door as she was about to finish off her conversation with Esposito, so she turned and made her way to the door, muttering a quick thanks down the phone, hanging up, and tossing it on the couch before she reached out to open the door.

"Hey," she offered him, him being Castle, and almost smiled.

"Hey," he responded, and she was too caught up with herself that she barely even recognised how hesitant he was, how worried he looked.

"I just got off the phone with Esposito," she filled him in as she walked back toward the murder board and left Castle to close the door and follow. "Our killer had a keychain and he matched it to Eastway Car Rentals."

"That could be any one of a thousand cars," he said quietly, almost doubtfully, but Beckett didn't have time to doubt things. A lead's a lead.

"I know, it's a needle in a haystack, but at least it's a haystack. And they keep most of their licenses on file—"

"Kate—"

"Yeah, he's probably using a fake ID, but we should be able to narrow it down from there—"

"Kate," Castle repeated, sharply now.

"What's wrong?" She looked too hopeful, looked too excited, and what if she got somewhere with this? It would lead her to her death, not justice for her mother.

No. No, she needed to know. Regardless of their relationship, this was for her safety.

He walked forward and stood between her and the murder board, trying to find his voice. When it didn't succeed in volume, he cleared his throat and spoke weakly, "You have to stop. This investigation, you – you have to stop."

She almost smiled at him, seeing his concern in a different light. "Castle, we already talked about this. I'm fine. I'm in control."

He shook his head, his whole being consumed with nervousness and dread. "No, you're not. They are. And if you don't stop, they will kill you, Kate."

"What are you talking about?" she asked lightly, her eyes studying him in a way they never had before. She was trying to see through him.

_Because he was the honest one,_ he thought with a stab of guilt. He had given her so much grief over her shooting, something he only now realised he was in no place to do. She hid her feelings because she was scared to admit they were mutual and he hid a secret where her _life_ hung in the balance and chose not to tell her about it.

Swallowing every emotion he felt for her, forgetting her confession of love so it wouldn't rip him apart to tell her, he put on a steady voice and began.

"Before Montgomery went into that hangar, he sent a package to someone, someone…he trusted. It contained information damaging to the person behind all this. Montgomery was trying to protect you. But the package didn't arrive until after you'd been shot. Montgomery's friend…struck a deal with them. If they left you alone, the package and the information inside would never see the light of day. But they made one condition – you had to back off. And that's the reason you're alive, Kate, because you stopped."

Her voice faltered slightly as she watched him. "How do you know this?"

He looked down to the ground as he felt moisture prick at his eyes. He couldn't stand to look at her. He wasn't getting her now, not ever. "In order for the deal to work...someone had to make sure you weren't pursuing it."

Her own eyes glistened with damp disbelief as her body language toward him changed, vulnerable to his admission. Her voice was barely a whisper. "Are you a part of this?"

"I was just trying to keep you safe," he said, trying to defend himself, although he knew he had no right to.

She didn't seem to be breathing as she walked away from him, and for a second he thought she was leaving the apartment, her own apartment, but she turned and rested her hands on her hips, sucking in a heavy breath. "By lying to me...about the most important thing in my life?"

"That lie was the only thing that was protecting you," he said, trying to reason with her, trying to make it clear that it was purely out of concern and desire to keep her alive. Maybe it wasn't the best thing to do, but it was the only thing, and the reasons were right. That much he needed her to understand.

But she wouldn't.

"Castle, I didn't need protection, I needed a lead and you've sat on it for a year." She looked away from him and let it go – for now, and tried to focus on slightly more pressing matters. "Now, who is this person? How do I find him?"

He spoke to her knees. "He's a voice on a phone; he's a shadow in a parking garage."

At that, her gaze lifted to find his, and she was all hurt and devastation and _disbelief_. "You met with him," she breathed, and then she added, nervous but defiant, "How do you know that he's not behind my mom's murder? How do you know that he's not involved? And how the hell could you _do_ this?"

Then it was his turn to feel the disbelief spread through him. He almost gaped at her as he built his voice up. "_How could I do this?_ How about the same reason I've been here for four years, by your side. Why I came back each and every time, given what we've been through together, and still I bring you a cup of coffee to see you smile, I still joke around to make you laugh, because I love you, Kate," he said defensively, his breath coming out in short puffs now. "And I know you feel the same way, so put yourself in my position and ask yourself what you'd do if the tables were turned. If I was going in over my head with something as serious as this and I knew I could get killed – but if someone told you there was a chance that I'd live, given that a deal was struck – would you take the deal or would you leave it up to fate to decide for me?"

He touched a nerve. A tear spilled down Kate's cheek as her shoulders slumped in defeat, but Castle wasn't finished.

"I knew something like this – something to do with your mother had to come up sooner or later, and I knew you'd go right back into it and you wouldn't come out no matter how hard I'd try to lure you. But I was willing to take the risk and try to keep you from poking into the case if I could, and I've been trying to, Kate, _for you_. I lied to you, I know it was wrong, but it's your _life_ that it concerns. And I know I was selfish in not telling you, but I knew you wouldn't like it, and _God_, Kate, we've gotten so close, and I didn't want to lose you, what we have..."

Tears were forming a steady stream down Kate's cheeks as she listened to him, unable to move, unable to speak, barely able to breathe.

"Rick..."

He blinked against the threatening sting and brushed past her, heading for the door. He couldn't deal with it now. Not now. He had been trying so hard not to let her slip through his fingers without gripping too tight, and now he had just dropped her completely, his hands too shaky to keep holding on.

All he knew as he closed the door behind him was that he had just left Beckett to decide for herself whether she wanted to live or not, and that his deal had just gone to hell.

And he didn't think he wanted to stick around for her decision.

_**Alright, so, second last chapter, this one is. It'll be drawn to a close in the next one and yeah, there's not much difference between this and the show – it was just a thought about how it would go if that particular arc of episodes had gone a little differently from "47 Seconds." You might have liked it, you mightn't have, but I appreciate you reading it anyway, and the reviews/favouriting/following on your part did a lot on mine, so one last thanks to everyone who responded to this. **_

_**Stick around for the last chapter and leave a review telling me what you think!**_


	9. Chapter 9

"_There is a universal truth we all have to face, whether we want to or not. _Everything_ eventually ends. As much as I've looked forward to this day, I've always disliked endings. Last day of summer, the final chapter of a great book, parting ways with a close friend. But endings are inevitable. Leaves fall, you close the book. You say goodbye. Today is one of those days for us. Today we say goodbye to everything that was familiar, everything that was comfortable. We're moving on. But just because we're leaving, and that hurts, there's some people who are so much a part of us, they'll be with us no matter what. They are our solid ground. Our North Star. And the small clear voices in our hearts that will be with us … always."_

Castle's chest was tight with emotion as he watched his daughter give the most _incredible_ speech. At first, all he could think about was how all the hard work, all those drafts and the rough notes were worth it. But she went on, and she touched him in a way no one else ever had with her words. It wasn't something Castle was used to. He was the word wielder, the writer, and she was _definitely_ her father's daughter.

Tears pricked his eyes as she finished and he clapped enthusiastically along with the rest of the crowd, her senior class, as everyone looked up to her with smiled on their faces – but none as heartfelt as Rick's.

Her words carried him all the way home, even after Martha had left for the Hamptons and Alexis was calling to check up on him, like the good parent she was.

"No, Alexis, I'll be fine. I've got a thousand cable channels, I got my Xbox, – _you_ have fun," he said, grinning into the mouthpiece of the phone. "I will not worry about you until lunchtime tomorrow ... I love you, too." And with that, he hung up, going about proudly hooking the tassel of her cap on the lamp in the living room.

Then his phone bleeped once more, and he briefly wondered if Alexis had forgotten to mention something, but then a completely different face lit up the screen of his smartphone and he sighed.

Picking it up, he contemplated answering for a few moments, his face losing all buoyancy from before with his daughter.

Before it rang off into nothingness, like the last few times she had called, he swiped his thumb across the bottom of the screen and answered.

"Beckett." It wasn't a greeting; it was barely even a statement. Then there was complete silence. He tried again, the line of his brow furrowing. "Beckett?" Still nothing. "Beckett? Beckett, are you there?"

Now he was slightly concerned. He pressed the speaker a little harder to his ear and made out the sound of the rainstorm outside, and he knew it wasn't his surroundings he was hearing it from. Dropping the phone immediately, he reached for his coat and hooked it around his forearm as he headed for the door and proceeded to leave the loft.

"Damn it, Kate, where the hell are you," he muttered to himself as he caught the elevator in good time and let it take him to the ground floor. As soon as the doors _pinged_ open again, he made a beeline for the entrance and gave the heavy door a good shove, took about three steps out onto the sidewalk, and blindly collided with a shorter, dripping-wet figure obviously on their way into the building.

Jolting back, he began apologising profusely, before he found himself looking into the startled, miserable eyes of Kate Beckett.

"Beckett," he breathed, an echo of how he picked up his phone only a minute ago. He looked down at her clothes which looked as though they could have been _painted_ on, took into notice that her hair was plastered to her face and dripping. "Dear God, Kate, where the hell were you?"

It was a stupid question; he knew that, because in that moment, he felt the heavy downpour of rain begin to soak him from head to toe as well. He rephrased. "How long have you been out?"

"Castle, I..." she murmured, her voice strained, badly. It sounded as though she had been shouting, screaming, crying herself hoarse. At that thought, he looked at her more closely and seen the tear tracks and – even more concerning – a dawning, purple bruise on the base of her neck. Were there more? He opened his mouth to ask but she beat him to it. "He almost killed me."

Castle's jaw went slack.

She went on. "And you, I thought you were there. I could hear you, I could almost see you, but then you were gone and...Ryan—"

"Kate," he cut her off, seeing that she was beginning to tremble.

Her shoulders convulsed with a sob and she tried again, her voice broken, her eyes desperate, _pleading_, almost. "He got away, I couldn't do it – not – not without—"

He had enough.

Pulling her into his embrace, he shut her up by swooping down upon her and stealing the words right out of her mouth, drawing a gasp from her instead. He felt her go weak – the last of her resolve slipping away and she leaned into him for support, her hands moving to grip his biceps like vices. His lips held hers, captured, perfectly welded, as he cradled her to him, trying to soothe her and trying to spill all his emotions into her through the kiss.

Sorrow. Forgiveness. Protectiveness. Care. Worry. Want. _Love._

A kiss alone wasn't going to do all that justice and he knew it. But anything more was too much for her, _much_ too much.

Yet he craved to show her how much he loved her, how much he cherished her, how much he wanted her to feel him and be able to trust him. He wanted to give her everything in every sense and wanted to have her all to himself and never let her go.

Wishful thinking.

But when he slowed down the kiss and cupped her cheek, barely sipping at her mouth, she desperately tried to dive back into him. He held her off and frowned in a little surprise, a lot confusion.

"_Castle_," she whispered, her lips parted against his, seeking, desiring. "Castle, I want to. I want _you_. Please, _I just want you_."

He pulled away only slightly to give her an uncertain look, not wanting her to have any regrets, not wanting to have her blame him afterward.

"Are you sure?"

"Always."

He felt the warmth of her voice resonate in his chest, despite the freezing rain, and tried for whatever air was left in his lungs.

But then she was smiling and taking his hand in hers, their fingers lacing together, before she began leading him back into his building, her eyes full of certainty and need and _love_.

_Always, she promised him._

* * *

**_Hey, guys, so I'm gonna leave it at this. I had no idea, at all, that it would get the response it did, so for that I'm thankful. I know it's no great story or anything, but I've learned from it and it broke me back into writing, so hopefully I'll come out with more creative things sooner or later. I've had fun writing it, and I sincerely hope at least a few of you enjoyed reading it._**

**_Thoughts? _**


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